


Paroxysm

by Cornfields_and_bad_dreams



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, mention of pills/alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 11:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornfields_and_bad_dreams/pseuds/Cornfields_and_bad_dreams
Summary: Vent fic.  Gwen explores some dark thoughts.





	Paroxysm

Gwen ran her hand across the bed, the texture of her sheets felt course. These were not the sheets she liked, she hated the feeling, the color, the smell. She hadn’t changed the sheets in a long time, she couldn’t remember how long exactly. She stared up at the ceiling fan as it spun around above her, the moonlight that spilled in from the window throwing shadows across the room. Gwen’s mind raced with thoughts.

What if the fan fell? Would it be like in movies or on tv? No, but what if it was? The image of blood, her blood, everywhere seemed to unfold before her eyes, the sight of her bloody mangled body lying motionless on the bed, deep gouges in the bed itself. In the sheets.

Those god damn sheets, she balled up her fists pulling at the sheets, how badly she just wanted to rip at them, tear them up, set them on fire, something anything just to get rid of them. But that would make a mess, a mess she’d have to clean. She’d have to remake the bed. She didn’t want to.

Sleep, Gwen needed to sleep she knew it. But her eyes refused to stay shut and her mind refused to rest. Gwen’s life was a failure, she was a failure. Useless, hopeless, pointless. The meaninglessness of everything was weighing heavy on her mind. Fantasies exploded like bombs as she envisioned all the things she could do, should do, to fix everything. But excuses flooded in after them. If’s, but’s, and only when’s broke her fantasies, deconstructed them before her very eyes and dissected them down to nothing. Her chest was starting to hurt and her blood started to feel like ice.

What would be the most peaceful, painless way to die? Getting drunk was always, fun. If you drank until you died it should feel good right? You’d get to experience that high one last time before succumbing to the eternal nothingness of death. Or maybe sleeping pills 1, 2, 5, 10, 50, 100. However many necessary just down them and slip away. The idea of one last dream before the end, what would it be, what would it feel like?

What does a noose feel like around your neck, your weight held up by a single piece of rope? The guillotine? A razor-sharp blade precariously hung above you, your head locked into place your neck stretched out waiting to be liberated from your body.

The act of death is romantic, the afterlife is gutwrenching.

The clock reads 5 am. Gwen isn’t sure how long she’s been lying here, thinking. But it’s certainly too long. 

Diphenhydramine, 25mg, 2 caplets as the bottle directed. The voices of four men drifted from her phone to her ears, their commentary on the child’s card game they played slowly edged out the cacophony of thoughts in Gwen’s head. Nearly 3 hours of meaningless noise would surely carry her to sleep.

It had to.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at cornfields-and-bad-dreams


End file.
